Disclaimer: I do not own the Breakfast Club. I also don't own "Blowin' in the Wind", the Bob Dylan song I named the story after.But feel free to sue me anyway. I have five dollars in my wallet and even less in the bank. You could buy yourself a sandwich or something.
Rating: T for language, drug use and adult situations, including references to sex and violent images pertaining to war.
Summary: In 1964, five teenagers arrive at school to serve Saturday detention. A hippie, a feminist, a preacher's daughter, a war hero's son and a shy writer…meet the parents of the Breakfast Club.
A/N: I didn't come up with this idea on my own. I am writing this in response to a challenge issued by Unicorn Pammy. The challenge is as follows:
"I'd like to read a story about the parents of the Breakfast Club all having detention as teenagers. ALSO, the parents cannot have the same characteristics as the children. John's dad can't be the criminal, Claire's mom can't be the princess, etc. Mix it up a little, and try different stereotypes. Oh, and it doesn't have to be all parents, it can be aunts and uncles, but at least one of them has to be a parent of a clubber."

So, this story takes place in 1964. It's cutting it a bit close, but I have done the math, and the dates work out, even if it means that the parents are giving birth to the BC members at a pretty young age. Then again, the average age to give birth in the early 60's was 21.8, so I don't think I'm actually that far off the mark.

Historical Information -- Please Read First

I did a bunch of research about the 1960's, but I might have made mistakes. Feel free to shove said mistakes down my throat (metaphorically, please) if you see any.

For this chapter, it will be important for you to know that the hippie movement was getting popular in the early sixties. Though it was in existence in 1964, it's uncertain exactly when the word hippie became part of the common slang, so I'll be using it sparingly in this story. The hippie movement grew from the beatnik movement of the late 1950's (think Jack Kerouac and coffee houses), so the term Beatnik was usually used (as a derogatory term) to describe those who were part of the counter-culture.

Now, I don't normally like it when an author has to introduce characters before the story begins (I think that's laziness on the author's part). However, in this case I think it's necessary. The cast of this story is as follows:

Frank Bender: John's father
Jack Reynolds: Allison's father
Jean Miller: Brian's mom
Maggie (Margaret) Clark: Andy's aunt (her older brother Richard is/becomes Andy's father)
Alice Foster: Claire's aunt (her older sister Betty is/becomes Claire's mother)

The rest you'll have to figure out on your own. Enjoy.

Saturday, April 25, 1964

Chapter One: Saturday Detention

Frank Bender was in a foul mood.

For one, he had to be up at the school at eight o'clock in the morning…on a Saturday. He'd tried to get out of it, but not even his father could help him with this one. In fact, when he'd told him about the detention, the old man had expressed very little sympathy. "You made a mistake," he said gravely. "If this was war, it could have been the last one you ever made."

But it wasn't war--at least, not yet--and Frank was still alive to accept the consequences of his actions: seven hours in the school cafeteria with the school rejects.

Frank pulled his gold 1955 Ford Fairlane out onto the main boulevard, which ran straight through downtown Shermer, and shifted into second gear. Frank was proud of his car. Damn proud. He'd purchased it with his own money on his sixteenth birthday and spent hours touching up the paint job, polishing the hubcaps, and learning how to fix the engine so that it ran real nice. It was his baby. Sure, those new Ford Mustangs were sporty and fast, and they looked really cool, but those were just for looking. Sort of like the girls that wore those short skirts with the boots that went all the way to the knee.

Which made him think of Susan. Frank glanced up at his rearview mirror, where he'd tied a green scarf that Susan had given him when they'd first started dating. Like the knights and their ladies, she'd told him. It shows everyone that I'm your girl. Frank liked that idea, that Susan belonged to him and no one else. He liked that other people knew it, too.

Suddenly, someone stepped out onto the road in front of him. Frank slammed on the brakes, stopping just in time to avoid hitting a man wearing a long brown jacket and faded blue jeans. The man--a tall, thin guy with long, dark hair a five o'clock shadow--glanced up at Frank and flashed him a boyish grin.

But Frank wasn't amused. "Get off the street!" he shouted out of the driver's side window. "I'm driving here!"

The man's grin widened, and reached up to flash him the peace sign as he passed in front of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Frank ignored him and took off down the street again.

"Fucking Beatnik," he muttered.

Maggie Clark was bored.

"…in Ephesians, chapter five, verse eleven, which says, 'Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them…'"

Maggie tuned her father out and flipped down the mirror attached to the underside of the sun visor on the passenger's side of the vehicle. She opened her mouth to check for seeds or flecks of toast from breakfast that morning and, finding none, pursed her lips together and pouted. The frosted pink lipstick she'd applied earlier that morning was still in place.

"…and Peter makes it very clear that the Church is to remain pure and set apart from the world so that it shines as a beacon of God's holiness in a godless world…"

Satisfied, Maggie let her eyes drift away from her own reflection. She adjusted the visor slightly, and her older brother Richard came into view. He was sitting in the back seat with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, staring blankly out of the window at the scenery passing by. Maggie watched him for a moment, then snapped the mirror closed and pushed the visor away so that it was pressed firmly against the padded roof of the car.

"…and these things are especially true for our family, Margaret. We are living examples to those around us. This behavior does not go unnoticed."

Maggie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She looked down at her lap and brushed a wrinkle out of her light blue skirt.

"Are you listening to me, Margaret?"

Maggie turned to look at her father, who was glancing back and forth between his teenage daughter and the road in front of him. "Yes, Daddy," she said obediently.

"This is not a joke. I am very serious."

"I know you are, Daddy."

Reverend Clark pulled up to the curb and put the car in 'Park'. He watched his daughter very closely for a moment, then said, "Proverbs 22:1."

Maggie released a shallow, frustrated breath. "Daddy, not now. I--"

"Proverbs 22:1," he said firmly.

Maggie took a deep breath to calm herself. "A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favor rather than silver and gold," she recited flatly.

"Deuteronomy 27:10."

"Thou shalt therefore obey the voice of the Lord thy God, and do his commandments and his statutes, which I command thee this day."

Reverend Clark nodded briefly, pausing for a moment. Maggie stared at the dashboard, waiting.

"Ephesians 6:2," he said finally.

Maggie released an angry sigh, then said, "Honor thy father and mother; which is the first commandment."

Her father smiled and reached out to pat her on the knee. "Remember those words."
Maggie ignored him. "I have to go now or I'm going to be late," she said.

Reverend Clark sighed. "I'm taking Richard to physical therapy this afternoon, but I'll pick you up at three."

Maggie turned around to get a better look at her brother in the backseat. "Bye, Rich."

Richard didn't even look at her, just kept staring out the window. Maggie pretended that the lack of response didn't bother her and turned back around in her seat. She grabbed her purse from the floor, pushed open the passenger side door, and stepped out onto the curb.

"Margaret."

Maggie closed her eyes to keep from screaming out loud, then turned to face him. "Yes, Daddy?"

Reverend Clark was leaning over her seat to get a better look at her. "No boys," he said solemnly.

Maggie slammed the door shut and walked into the building.

Jean Miller was so tired of having this conversation.

"I just don't understand why you have to dress this way all of the time. Do the other girls your age wear pants on the weekends?"

Jean shook her head. "No, I'm pretty sure that they don't."

Mrs. Miller gave her daughter a sideways glance, then looked back at the road. "I just don't understand," she said again.

"It doesn't matter if you understand," Jean responded patiently.

Her mother didn't appear to have heard her. "I just don't think denim is all that attractive," she said distractedly.

Jean didn't respond to this. She knew her mother well enough to know that she wouldn't understand her daughter's feelings about the situation, no matter how many times Jean tried to explain it to her. And she had tried.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Miller pulled into the school parking lot, stopping just behind a white Buick station wagon. Jean grabbed her book bag and prepared to make a quick exit, but her mother put a hand on her arm to stop her. Jean took her hand away from the doorknob and looked back at her mother, waiting.

"Aren't you going to get in trouble for wearing those…pants to school?" she asked, nodding at her daughter's denim capris.

"I don't know," Jean answered honestly.

Mrs. Miller frowned. "Jean, I really wish you wouldn't act so rebellious."

"I'm not acting rebellious," Jean replied.

"So, why do you insist on doing this?"

"On doing what?"

"This!" Mrs. Miller waved a hand in Jean's general direction, indicating her daughter's entire person. "Wearing pants all the time, never putting on any make up. I just wish…"

"Wish what?" Jean prodded.

"I just…" Mrs. Miller paused thoughtfully and looked away. "I just wish you would dress like that," she finished, pointing out the windshield.

Jean followed her mother's gaze to a girl climbing out of the station wagon in front of them. She was wearing a light blue cardigan and matching skirt with a pair of white ballet flats. Her curly blonde hair had been pulled back from her face with a white headband, and her lips were painted light pink. She looked like Cotton Candy Barbie.

Jean turned back to her mother. "I am never going to look like her."

Mrs. Miller attempted a weak smile. "Oh, yes, you could, sweetie. Remember when you had your hair long? You looked so--"

"No," Jean interrupted. "I mean that I never want to look like her."

Her mother's brow furrowed in concern. "I just wish you would take some pride in your appearance."

Jean shook her head determinedly. "My appearance is not what matters to me. Why should I spend all of my time on something that I care so little about?"

Mrs. Miller paused. "I worry about you," she said quietly.

"Well, don't," Jean responded firmly. "I have to go or I'll be late."

Her mother nodded reluctantly. "I'll pick you up at three," she promised.

Jean nodded and opened up the car door. She was about to step out onto the sidewalk when she suddenly turned around and kissed her mother on the cheek. "Have a good day," she told her.

Without waiting for her mother to respond, Jean got out of the car and closed the door behind her.

Alice Foster was nervous.

She'd never been given a detention before, and she had no idea what to expect. Would the others know one another? Would they make fun of her for being there? Would she be the only girl?

Alice glanced over at her sister, Betty, who was staring out at the road in front of her. "Betty?"

"Hmmm?"

Alice paused, trying to find the words. "Did you ever have to serve detention when you were in school?" she asked finally.

Betty shook her head, and a blonde tendril escaped from the bobby pins holding her hair in place. "No," she said thoughtfully. "I never got in trouble."

"Oh." Alice felt her face flame with embarrassment, and she looked down at her hands, which were folded up in her lap. She reached down to smooth out a wrinkle in her skirt, but the wrinkle didn't cooperate with her. Alice frowned. She'd tried ironing the skirt that morning, but after nearly ten years the iron was on its last leg, and it hadn't been very effective against the rumpled khaki pleats.

"What time do I need to pick you up?"

Alice looked up to see that they'd arrived at school and were parked along the curb just outside of the front entrance behind a white station wagon and a light blue Lincoln Continental. "Oh…uh, three o'clock."

Betty nodded. "Okay." She paused. "Mark is away on a business trip this weekend, so I have the house to myself. If you want to stay over tonight, you can."

"Oh." Alice offered a sympathetic smile. "Mom wanted me to stay home tonight. I think she's cooking pot roast."

Betty nodded casually. "Sure, I understand."

"But you should come over," said Alice. "We'll play board games."

Betty smiled, and Alice thought that she looked a little bit sad. "Maybe," she said kindly.

Alice nodded. "Okay." She turned around in her seat and looked back at her two-year old nephew, Christopher, who was strapped into his car seat in the backseat. "Bye, Christopher."

Christopher waved a sticky hand in her direction. "Bye, bye," he chimed happily.

Alice smiled and turned back around. As she did, a tall, stocky boy wearing khaki trousers and a brown jacket over his plaid button-down shirt passed in front of them, glancing back to get another look at the car. This happened a lot when she drove with her sister. For their one-year anniversary, Betty's husband Mark had bought her a brand new Mercedes convertible, and in a small town like Shermer it really stood out.

"Here."

Alice looked back at Betty, who was fishing around in her wallet. She pulled out a couple of one dollar bills and pressed them into Alice's hand.

"Oh, no, I--"

"Just take it," Betty said firmly. "You may need it to buy a Coke or some milk or something."

Alice wanted to point out that it would probably buy her about twenty bottles of Coke, but she knew better than to argue with her sister when it came to money. Obediently, she stuffed the bills into her book bag and looked back up. "Thank you," she said quietly.

Betty nodded curtly and busied herself with adjusting the rearview mirror. Alice grabbed her bag from the floor and tried one last time to smooth out the wrinkle in her skirt. Once again, the attempt was unsuccessful. Resigned, Alice pushed up her glasses and reached for the door handle.

"Alice."

Alice turned to look back at her sister, who offered her an encouraging smile. "Have a good day," she said.

Alice smiled. "You, too."

"Get off the street! I'm driving here!"

Yeah, no shit, thought Jack as he passed in front of the car. He considered "accidentally" wiping his hands all over the hood of the guy's car, but reconsidered it when he noticed how huge the guy was. Instead, he reached up and flashed him the peace sign. The gesture had its desired effect; the guy sneered and sped off down the street.

"Have a great day!" Jack shouted after him, cupping his hand around his mouth like a megaphone. The guy didn't stop, just kept driving as if he hadn't heard him.

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and continued down the sidewalk. It was a chilly morning, colder than he'd expected, and he had nothing but his jacket to protect him from the cold, damp air. What he wouldn't give for a cup of hot, black coffee just then. Hot coffee and a fresh cigarette…breakfast of champions.

But that morning, Jack hadn't had any time for breakfast. He'd woken up twenty minutes before he was scheduled to be in detention and had little time to do anything except brush his teeth and get dressed. He could have grabbed a banana or a piece of bread to eat on the way, but he didn't think about that until he was already out the door, halfway to school. Like his grandfather said, Jack was always flying by the seat of his pants, never planning for the future.

Fuck you, old man. Who asked you, anyway?

Jack arrived at school two minutes late, according to the clock in the hallway outside of the cafeteria. He pulled open the doors to the cafeteria, and was met with four different sets of eyes. One set belonged to an overgrown football player with a flat top and a sour expression on his face. On the row behind him sat a pretty blonde girl wearing a white headband and a curious expression. Her eyes flickered down to his jacket, which was covered in buttons, then back up to his face. When she saw that he was watching her, she huffed quietly and looked down at her lap.

Jack nodded politely in the girl's direction as he passed by, but she was still staring down at her hands and didn't notice. A short-haired girl wearing a white men's button-down shirt was sitting across the across the aisle from the blonde. She glanced up at him as he passed, looking decidedly unimpressed. He took a seat on the back row behind the girl with the short hair and glanced across the aisle. On the back row, a couple of rows behind the meathead and the beauty queen, another girl sat by herself. She had long strawberry blonde hair and was wearing thick-framed glasses. She glanced up at him, blushed, then looked back down at the notebook in her lap.

Jack lifted his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. He spend a moment making himself comfortable, which drew a couple of curious stares from the girls in the room. A few seconds passed before the door swung open and principal Carlton Reed, Sr. walked in with a clipboard in one hand.

"Good morning," he said brightly. "If Mr. Reynolds will kindly removed his feet from the top of the table, we'll get started."

A/N: Just so you know, there will be some similarities between the film and this story simply because it's unavoidable (and in some cases, fun). But not everything will be the same. You'll see what I mean in future chapters.

Please review! Thanks.